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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24285145">baby, you and i are (fool's) gold</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/em_a/pseuds/em_a'>em_a</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - No Powers, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Unrequited Love, also it's the holidays bc why not, when i say au i mean AU, zoey has no powers and max is a music teacher</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 01:48:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,593</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24285145</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/em_a/pseuds/em_a</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>So, maybe Zoey told her family she's dating her best friend Max, even though she most definitely is not.<br/>And yeah, maybe Max agrees to fake a relationship, even though he's secretly in love with Zoey.<br/>But really, what's the worst that could happen?<br/><br/><b>[this fic is temporarily on a break but WILL be finished]</b></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Zoey Clarke/Max Richman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>45</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. spoke a lot of words (i don’t know if i spoke the truth)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm always a sucker for a fake dating fic, and Clarkeman was lacking in that department, so here we are. It's an au because who cares about canon anyway? Austin Winsberg eat your heart out. (Just kidding, Austin. Though I sincerely hope you aren't reading this.)<br/><br/>Even though this is a universe where Zoey doesn't have powers (lame ik, who made that decision?), I wanted to keep up the theme of having a song to describe the situations, so I'm aiming to have a song in every chapter. The song this time is <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lA-gGl6qihQ">Trouble by Cage the Elephant</a> (which is also where the chapter title is from). It's a bop, so if you haven't heard it, go listen!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So, did you hear that Simon is engaged?” Zoey’s mother asks. They’re standing in the kitchen, where Zoey has been roped into helping with dinner. Everyone in the family knows that this was just an excuse for Maggie to get some alone time with Zoey—if there was any actual cooking involved on Zoey’s part, their family game night would quickly turn into family put-out-the-house-fire night.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Simon Haynes?” Zoey asks. She had no need to clarify, seeing as there’s really only one Simon that their family knows. But Zoey wants to keep the inevitable conversation about his engagement at arm’s length, and feigning ignorance seems like the best way to do it.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie gestures for Zoey to get the glasses down from the cupboard. “That would be the one. Anyway, I was just chatting with his mother, and she told me all about the proposal. It sounded very romantic.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Clarkes and the Hayneses had been family friends for years; their parents had known each other before Zoey’s elder brother David had been born. Zoey and Simon were born around the same time, and had therefore been friends since before either of them could talk. They saw each other often enough, and after graduating high school, they decided to try their hand at dating. Their relationship was fine, but that’s all it was. It wasn’t exciting, or new, or out of the ordinary. It was the same as their friendship before, just with making out as an added bonus. By the time the end of summer rolled around, Zoey was set to go off to UCLA, and Simon was staying back in San Francisco. It made sense to break up, and that was the end of it. They hadn’t regularly been in touch since; it wasn’t a particularly bad breakup, but being away at school had cemented in the fact that they were really only friends because of their parents. She had seen Simon a few times in the past years, the most recent time being her father's funeral almost a year ago. Besides that, she really only knew of his life through Instagram and their oversharing mothers.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, I knew he was seeing somebody. Jessica—” Zoey pauses here to hop up and grab the fourth glass she needs. Really, she thinks cabinets should be more considerate of those below the average height. “—right? I think I’ve met her a few times. She seems nice.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Helen seems to like her, from what she said on the phone,” Maggie says. “She was saying that they’re already planning their engagement party for next month.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Next month?” Zoey asks. “Don’t these things generally take longer to plan?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They want to have it before everyone starts traveling for the holidays,” Maggie replies. “Anyway, I think we should all go. It’s been so long since our families were all together.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll see if I can make it, it really depends on my work schedule,” Zoey says. “We’re developing this new smartwatch, and the software has been super buggy.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, hopefully you can come.” Maggie pauses for a moment before continuing, “You wouldn’t happen to have anyone you would want to bring along, do you?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Like— like a date?” Zoey asks. Of course, David choses this exact moment to walk into the kitchen. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Zoey taking a date someplace? When was the last time <em>that</em> happened? I’ve already started to accept the fact that you’re going to die an old maid,” David teases, a frown on his lips and a hand clutched over his heart.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zoey gives him an exasperated look. She hopes it conveys the fact that if it wasn’t for her mother bearing witness, she would be murdering him right now. (All in sibling love, of course.)</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We were just talking about Simon Haynes’ engagement party. I think you and Emily should come, too,” Maggie tells David.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll see if I’m available, and if Emily is up for it. I don’t know, though. I wouldn’t want Zoey to be third wheeling <em>again</em>.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey! Who says I don’t have a date?” Zoey asks without thinking. She’s not sure where she’s going with this, seeing as she actually <em>doesn’t</em> have a date.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">David doesn’t have to know that, though.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re not seeing anyone, Zoey,” he says, sure of himself.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry, Dave, I didn’t realize you were keeping tabs on my love life now.” Zoey rolls her eyes. She doesn’t know what compels her to continue down this path of pretending to have a boyfriend, but she keeps on. “And, as a matter of fact, I <em>am</em> seeing someone.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah? Who?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s clear David still doesn’t believe her, so Zoey answers with the most believable person she can think of.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um, Max?” Her voice lilts up at the end, making it sound like a question more than anything else. Thankfully, no one else seems to notice.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“As in Max Richman?” Her mother asks. “Your best friend Max, who you’ve sworn up and down is ‘<em>just your friend</em>’?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At that moment, Zoey realizes that saying his name was a mistake. She’s just gone from having a fake boyfriend to having a lying-about-our-relationship-status boyfriend.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yep… that would be the one,” Zoey says, trying to keep the growing worry off her face. She turns her back to her her mother and brother, busying herself with filling the water glasses she had gotten down. “Max Richman, my boyfriend.” </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re with Max, like, actually?” David questions.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zoey laughs nervously, still not looking at her family. “Do I have to keep saying it?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well,” Maggie says, walking over to where Zoey is standing. She places a hand on her daughter’s arm. “I think that’s <em>wonderful</em>, Zoey. You know I love Max. You should bring him around to game night sometime.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He’s been to game night before, Mom,” Zoey reminds her.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know, but not as your <em>boyfriend</em>, he hasn’t. It’s exciting! Your dad would have been so happy for you.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Shit</em>. The Dead Dad Card just came out, which means there’s truly no backtracking for Zoey on this one.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, I’ll see if he’s free some time soon, I guess. I mean, not I <em>guess</em>—” Zoey cuts herself off. She really needs to learn when to stop talking. “I will. I will definitely check with him.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t make us wait too long,” Maggie says. “It’s been a while since he’s been around.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Anyway,” Zoey says, desperate to get out of both the room and the situation, “I’m going to the dining room now, seeing as David has left his wife all alone.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And with that, she makes her way into the dining room, hand still clutched around a half-filled water glass.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After dinner, when they’re three rounds deep into Monopoly, David leans over across the table and whispers to her, “You know, I’m happy for you and Max. Thought it was never gonna happen.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wh— what do you mean?” Zoey asks, tilting her head.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We all have <em>eyes</em>, Zo.” He punctuates his statement with an eye roll. “We’ve seen you two around each other, it was only a matter of time.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s Zoey’s turn, so she takes it before replying. (She manages to get herself stuck in jail, but she can’t say she’s invested enough in the game to care.) “Well, I wouldn’t say <em>that</em>. It was really unexpected, you know. Neither of us saw it coming.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, at least you both have everything out in the open now, right? No more hidden feelings. Clear skies from here on out,” David assures.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zoey simply nods and replies, “Yep.” She neglects to add on the fact that Max is unaware of their apparent change in relationship status. David may see clear blue, but all Zoey sees are the dark gray storm clouds looming on the horizon.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <b>To: Max the Rich Man, 10:42pm</b>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>so</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>i may have done something stupid tonight</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>like completely utterly stupid</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <b>From: Max the Rich Man, 10:44pm</b>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>What kind of stupid? Like, forgot to put the trash out Sunday night stupid? Or forgot to wear close-toed shoes to your lab stupid?</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <b>To: Max the Rich Man, 10:45pm</b>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>worse</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>way more stupid than either of those</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>by like 100%</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>and it also kinda sorta involves you</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <b>From: Max the Rich Man, 10:46pm</b>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>What did you do? I’m sure it’s not that bad, Zoey</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <b>To: Max the Rich Man, 10:46pm</b>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>well</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>i might have told my whole family that we’re dating</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <b>To: Max the Rich Man, 10:50pm</b>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>i promise i wasn’t like planning to</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>it just kind of slipped out and then i was too far into the lie</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>you know</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <b>From: Max the Rich Man, 10:57pm</b>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Um, okay. I’m not sure I really do know. Maybe we should meet tomorrow and talk? It might be more clear in person. Are you free?</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <b>To: Max the Rich Man, 10:58pm</b>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>yeah!</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>10 at golden gate grind?</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>i was in there last week and one of the baristas told me autumn doesn’t work there anymore</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>so you don’t need to worry about her or anything</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>no ex-gf freak outs for you, hooray</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <b>From: Max the Rich Man, 11:01pm</b>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>I didn’t know Autumn quit. Sure, that sounds good</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <b>To: Max the Rich Man, 11:02pm</b>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>okay, it’s a date</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>i mean, not a date</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>just like a meeting between two friends</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>a plan</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>you know what i mean</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zoey only gets a thumbs up emoji in reply.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zoey sits, waiting for Max, tapping the worn wooden table out of nervousness. A gust of chilly October air hits her every time someone opens the door, and she wills her nonfat latte to come faster. The Golden Gate Grind had been their usual coffee spot for years, up until last month when Max started dating one of the baristas, Autumn, and subsequently dumped her. After that, they had started going to another coffee place; if she was being honest, she had missed going to Golden Gate Grind with Max. She was happy to be able to add it back into their usual rotation of spots.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Someone at the table across from her spills their drink, and Zoey is reminded of when she had first met Max. They were both sophomores at UCLA, and had been sitting at the same table in the library. Seeing as Zoey was a software engineering major and Max was studying music, she had no idea who he was and didn’t pay him much attention. Zoey had just finished meticulous organizing her notes for her Calculus final when Max had accidentally spilled his entire venti caramel latte over the whole table, drenching every last piece of paper Zoey had.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Needless to say, some choice words were fired his way.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But Max apologized profusely, and then proceeded to sit with her and help her rewrite her notes. (<em>“I just feel so bad, I’m so sorry,” he had said. “I can help you rewrite them, though? But just a fair warning, I haven’t taken any math past statistics, so I can’t promise I’ll actually understand anything I’m writing.”</em></span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“It’s okay,” she had replied. “Thanks for offering the help anyway. I’m Zoey, by the way. Software Engineering.” She stuck out her hand, which she realized was still covered in coffee. Max didn’t seem to care, though, and he shook it anyway.</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“I’m Max. I’m in going into music, A.K.A. I’m becoming a huge disappointment to my parents.”</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Zoey laughed. “Well, anyone who offers to rewrite notes for a math class they’ve never stepped foot in can’t be too bad, now, can they?”</em>)</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Following the fateful Library Incident, as they started calling it, the two became fast friends. After they graduated, Zoey decided to move back to San Francisco. She didn’t have any qualms with her hometown, and frankly, she preferred the tech-oriented city to the narcissism epicenter that seemed to be LA. Max had also found a job in the area, though he promised Zoey it had nothing to do with her. (<em>“It’s a good job, teaching at a private school in Oakland. And it’s a lot less pressure than anything here in L.A. My best friend being in the same vicinity is just an added bonus.”</em>)</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Somebody in the coffee shop switches the radio station, and it pulls Zoey out of her thoughts. Before, a peaceful piano song had been drifting through the speakers. Now, however, it seems to be some sort of alt-rock song. It sounds familiar, and Zoey figures she must have heard it through the walls of her neighbor, Mo’s, apartment. Zoey takes a moment to listen to the lyrics.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“We were at the table by the window with the view</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Casting shadows the sun was pushing through</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Spoke a lot of words I don't know if I spoke the truth</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Got so much to lose</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Got so much to prove</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>God, don't let me lose my mind</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Trouble on my left</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Trouble on my right</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>I've been facing trouble almost all my life”</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Well. Considering her current predicament, Zoey can’t exactly say the lyrics are exactly reassuring.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Zoey, hey.” She hears a voice call. She looks up to see Max approaching the table. “Sorry I’m late.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zoey looks to her watch, which reads <em>10:07</em>. If she’s being honest, she hadn’t been paying attention to the time and hadn’t realized Max was late.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Did you sleep through your alarm again?” she asks. “I know getting up before 10:30 on a weekend physically pains you.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max smiles, his warm brown eyes crinkling. “It’s honestly scary how well you know me,” he says, sitting down.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Anyway, it’s fine. I already ordered our drinks, so they should be done any time now.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, let me pay you back,” Max says, already reaching for his wallet.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You don’t have to do that, Max.” Zoey reaches out a hand to Max’s arm, stopping him from getting any money out. As soon as she touches him, she second guesses the movement and retracts her hand. “My treat. Besides, I owe you one, seeing as I told—”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zoey is interrupted by one of the baristas behind the counter calling out her name.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll go get those,” she says, taking the excuse to get up from the table. She recognizes the barista who called her name, Cory, from the numerous times she’s been in here.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Here’re your drinks,” he tells her, handing them over.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zoey begins to thank him, but she falters when she notices the look he’s shooting over her shoulder, directly at Max. His face is screwed up in a sour expression.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” she asks.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Isn’t that Autumn’s ex?” he asks, nodding to where Max is sitting at the table.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um, yeah,” she says hesitantly, “But I thought she didn’t work here anymore?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Cory shakes his head. “She doesn’t. But that doesn’t mean the rest of us forgot who he was. She had quite a lot to say about him after he dumped her.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well,” Zoey replies, “the only reason he’s here is because I asked him, and I think it’s safe to say he won’t be doing any favors for me for a while.” She gives him an apologetic smile.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alrighty, then. Have a good rest of your day, I guess.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thanks,” Zoey says, even though she knows it’s only going to go downhill from here.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zoey takes the drinks back over to where Max is still waiting.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What was that about?” Max asks, taking the drinks from her. “The barista was looking at me like I had run over his cat.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Turns out that even though Autumn quit, she had a lot to say about you before she left. So, maybe we should have waited a little longer to come back. Sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ah, that’s too bad,” Max says after taking a sip of his coffee. “I’ve missed coming here with you, though. Receiving a death glare from across the room is a small price to pay.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zoey gives him a small smile in reply. They sit there in silence for a moment, neither of them addressing the actual reason they were at the café in the first place.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So...” Max trails off. He’s looking past Zoey, out the window behind her, but his eyes drift back over to meet hers. “You want to explain why you told your family we’re dating? Because unless I missed something, we’re not.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Right,” Zoey says. She tries to think of where to begin. “So, basically, you know Simon?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Childhood best friend turned boyfriend for three months who you now only ever hear about through your mothers?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That would be the one,” Zoey says. Despite the stiltedness of their current conversation, she can’t help but to laugh at Max’s description. “So, anyway, my mom was talking about how he’s engaged now. And then she was talking about his engagement party, and was all like ‘<em>are you seeing anyone, Zoey?</em>’ which obviously, I’m not. But then David, of course, had to be the typically older brother, and mentioned the fact that I’ll never find someone. Which, side note, it’s kind of demeaning. I mean, why is my worth defined by whether or not I have a man hanging off my arm? Sure, it would be <em>nice</em> to have a boyfriend, but is it really that imperative to my life that—”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Right, Zoey,” Max cuts her off. “I totally agree. But could you get to the point?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry,” Zoey apologizes, “tangent over. So, anyway, I guess I was just thinking about the fact that I <em>wasn’t</em> seeing anyone, but here’s Simon who’s getting <em>married</em>, and David’s teasing me, and I know my mom didn’t mean anything by it, but she was asking, too. I just didn’t want to admit that I really was single, you know? So I was like ‘<em>well, what if I am dating someone?</em>’ and of course they didn’t believe me. So I had to tell them who it was that I was theoretically seeing, and I went with the first name that popped into my head, which—”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Which was my name,” Max says, finishing her sentence.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Exactly.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He only nods in response. He’s looking down at his drink, which he hasn’t taken another sip of since Zoey started talking. Her own drink remains in front of her, just as untouched as Max’s. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So, let me get this right,” Max eventually says, finally making eye contact with Zoey again. “You accidentally told your brother and mother you were dating someone, because David was teasing you about not having a boyfriend, which somehow turned into you telling them that <em>we’re</em> an item.” He waves his finger between the two of them. “A pretend item, but your family doesn’t know that.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Pretty much, that’s basically it,” Zoey says, biting her lip. “It doesn’t have to be a big deal, though. We can just tell them we’re dating for a few weeks, then say it didn’t work out but we’re still going to be friends. No biggie.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Right,” Max laughs. It’s not his usual, vibrant one, but it isn’t forced, either. “<em>No biggie</em>. You know, I’m pretty sure the last time anyone used that phrase, Justin Timberlake still had frosted tips.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zoey smiles at that. “I’m sorry, Max, I really am. But I promise this doesn’t have to be a weird thing. We’ll just go along with it for a few weeks, and by then we’ll be laughing at all of this. ‘<em>Hey, remember that time I accidentally told my family we were dating, even though we weren’t? That was so funny,</em>’” she says, dragging out the ‘so.’</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“All right, then,” Max says. “I mean, I suppose nothing is actually going to change, right?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Exactly,” Zoey says, flooded with relief. She gives Max a reassuring smile. “Everything will be back to normal in no time at all.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Feel free to leave kudos/comment!<br/>Constructive criticism and tips are always welcome as well<br/>I'm on tumblr @zoeysordinaryplaylist, come say hi :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. i loved you then (and i love you now)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A peak into Max's life, followed by dinner at the Clarkes' (featuring more than one announcement).</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry that this took me a bit to get up. I've had this chapter written since I posted the first one, but there were parts of it I wasn't happy with that I wanted to fix before I posted. For some reason I was in a super good writing mood the past couple of days, and I'm super happy how this chapter turned out. So, all that is to say, sorry for the wait but I hope it was worth it!</p><p>Also, I had to throw a little Leif/Tobin into this, because really, can you blame me?</p><p>Song/chapter title is <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1x1wjGKHjBI">Tongue Tied by Grouplove</a>.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>From: Zoey Clarke Not-Kent, 8:37am</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>hey so i forgot to mention this at coffee</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>but my mom wants you to come over for game night</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>you know as my “boyfriend”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>so maybe you could just come next week?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>and then we can just tell them that we broke up after</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>To: Zoey Clarke Not-Kent, 8:41am</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Sure, I’m always happy to go to a Clarke family game night, even if it’s as your pretend boyfriend :p Also, do you mean we should tell them we broke up at game night? Wouldn’t that be awkward?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>From: Zoey Clarke Not-Kent, 8:44am</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>i just meant afterwards in general</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>but doing it that night might actually work out</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>like they’d be bummed out, i’m sure </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>but they couldn’t react that much if we were both there</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>and that way they’d believe that we were still gonna be friends</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>plus we wouldn’t have to act all lovey-dovey the whole night and they wouldn’t question it</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>To: Zoey Clarke Not-Kent, 8:47am</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Sounds like a plan, then. You guys still do them on Fridays?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>From: Zoey Clarke Not-Kent, 8:47am</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>yep</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>dinner at 6 games at 7</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>To: Zoey Clarke Not-Kent, 8:49am</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Okay. Can we discuss the details more later? I’ve got to go, students are starting to show up. (In my opinion, the only reasonable time to show up for a 9am class is thirty seconds before the bell rings, but I can’t exactly tell them that.)</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>From: Zoey Clarke Not-Kent, 8:51am</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>this is why you were always late for your 8am music history lecture jr year</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>need i remind you that you almost failed it because of your missing participation points</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>anyway</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>talk later, fake-lover</em> </span>
</p>
<hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Well, Max is totally fucked.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s sitting by himself in the teachers’ lounge, lunch in front of him, mulling over his current predicament. Normally, he uses his lunch break to go over his teaching plan for the rest of the day; but today, his thoughts are with Zoey.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s been in love with her for the better part of a year, not that she would know that, and now he’s agreed to pretend to date her. What was he supposed to do? Tell her ‘<em>no, sorry, I don’t want to fake date you, because I’m in love with you and that would make my feelings more confused</em>.’</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yeah, no way. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">It’s not like Zoey owes him her love. </span> <span class="s1">He could go his whole life being only her best friend, and he’d be totally happy</span><span class="s1">. But he also can’t lie; he likes knowing there’s the possibility they could be something more.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Now, they’re going to have to tell her family that they tried dating and it didn’t work out, which means it would be just that much harder to actually try having a real relationship with her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Basically, he’s in deep shit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Woah, Maxie, watch the language there. You don’t want any younglings to overhear you, do you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max looks up from his salad, which he had absentmindedly been stabbing. He sees another teacher from the school, Tobin, standing in front of him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” Max asks. They both watch as a lone piece of avocado slides off of Max’s fork.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not sure if you were aware,” Tobin says, sitting down at the table, “but you were alternating between saying ‘shit’ and ‘oh fuck’ every time you beat the life out of a poor little piece of lettuce.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh. Sorry, I didn’t realize I was talking out loud. At least I didn’t charge in with a lightsaber and kill anyone,” Max quips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Huh?” Tobin raises an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, you called the students ‘younglings,’ and you know, in <em>Star Wars</em>—” he cuts himself off. Based on Tobin’s eye roll, it’s safe to say he doesn’t care about Max’s <em>Revenge of the Sith</em> reference. “Never mind.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max would like to start actually eating his salad, instead of just beating it up, but it seems like his work acquaintance (Tobin’s title, not his) has other ideas.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Call me crazy,” Tobin says, “But I feel like there might be something larger going on than you hating your lunch. You look <em>super</em> pathetic, dude. What’s up?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No offense, Tobin, but since when do you care about my personal life?” Max asks, ignoring Tobin’s insult. They had been coworkers for over a year now, but Max can’t remember the last time Tobin took any interest in him when it wasn't related to what food he brought to the faculty potlucks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, I’m currently indebted to you, seeing as you got my lover in the nighttime a job,” Tobin explains.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Isn’t Leif your lover in the <em>daytime</em>, too?” Max questions, mouth now full of salad.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sure, but ‘<em>lover in the nighttime</em>,’” he stretches his hands out in front of him, as if imagining the words on a sign, “is so much more exciting, don’t you think?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Uh, whatever you say.” Max gives him an in incredulous look. What goes on in Tobin’s mind is beyond him. “But I feel obligated to say <em>I</em> wasn’t really the one who got Leif the job at SPRQ Point. I just got you into contact with someone I knew who already worked there.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, yeah, the feisty redhead,” Tobin says, nodding. “Zoey, right?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max looks back down to his beaten salad and sighs. “Yeah, that’s the one.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tobin must realize a change in his demeanor. “Is she the reason behind your lunchtime woes?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max sets down his fork and puts his head in his hands. Apparently, there was no getting out of Tobin’s lunchtime therapy session. He slides his hands down his face as he begins to talk. “Fine. So, basically, she told her family we’re dating, even though—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, I get it,” Tobin cuts Max off. “You guys are keeping your relationship under wraps—which is the only logical explanation for why <em>I</em> haven’t heard of this exciting new development—but she spilled the beans to her fam too early.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max is about to correct Tobin’s extrapolation, but he stops himself. Does he really want Tobin, of all people, to know that he and Zoey are pretending to date, and that the reason this is so troubling is that Max is actually in love with her? The secret would be better kept if it was plastered across the Golden Gate Bridge. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yep,” Max says instead, “That’s basically it. It’s still new, you know? But now I’m going over for Clarke Family Game Night. Which I’ve done before, just not as her boyfriend.” He’s not <em>technically</em> lying to Tobin. Everything he said is true, regardless if he left some information out.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Want some friendly, Tobin-approved advice?” He reaches over to Max’s salad, grabbing a crouton.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not particularly, but I have a feeling I don’t have a choice.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You learn so quickly,” Tobin jokes, tossing the crouton into his mouth. “But seriously, man, just tell her how you feel. Get all those scared little feelings out in the open. ‘<em>Oh, Zoey-Bear, it hurt my feelings when you told your family we were dating before I was ready</em>.’ Make sure you sound super pitiful, which won’t be hard for you. The two keys are communication <em>and the nickname</em>. See, when Leif and I first met—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thanks, man,” Max cuts him off. Not that he doesn’t care about Tobin on some level, but he knows he’s about to launch into a full-fledged story, one that their lunch period wouldn’t allot the time for. “Advice is noted. But, really, I should get back to lunch.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, maybe we should go on a double date sometime!” Tobin exclaims.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max’s eyes widen. He’s thankful he and Zoey are about to announce their breakup to the world, because he’s not sure he would be able to sit through an entire night of Tobin’s pestering, on top of having to act like a couple with a Zoey who doesn’t actually reciprocate his feelings. In lieu of responding, Max gives a noncommittal hum and shoves a piece of lettuce into his mouth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After that, Tobin thankfully pulls out his phone and leaves Max to eat his food in peace. But halfway through his lunch, he gets several notifications on his phone, all in a row. Before looking, he knows it’s multiple texts waiting from Zoey. (<em>“Just warning you,” Zoey had told him, a week after they had met, “I’m not afraid of double texting, or even triple texting for that matter. I may </em>seem<em> super clingy, but really, it’s just easier. I’d rather text what I think, the same way I talk, than plan out every little message.”</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>“Well,” Max had answered. “I for one am a firm believer in proper grammar while texting. Don’t expect any ‘</em>quadruple texts<em>’ from me.”</em>)</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>From: Zoey Clarke Not-Kent, 12:17pm</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>so you know leif </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>my new coworker who's with tobin, your only work friend </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>he just asked me how my love life is</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>specifically how “my boy max” is</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>complete with a wink</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>would you have anything to do with that?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>because i know i didn't say anything to anyone besides my family</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>To: Zoey Clarke Not-Kent, 12:18pm</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Oh god, I’m so sorry. I accidentally said something to Tobin (who, for the record, I would not say is a work friend), and he must have mentioned something. It’s kind of scary how quick he was to inform Leif, I only told him like 10 minutes ago</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>From: Zoey Clarke Not-Kent, 12:20pm</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>that's honestly a little freaky that he already told him</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>i think those two have attachment issues</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>but anyway, if we’re planing on fake breaking up next week why did you say anything?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>i’m not mad at you don't worry</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>but doesn't that just make this more complicated?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>To: Zoey Clarke Not-Kent, 12:23pm</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>I know, I’m sorry. He was just pestering me about my personal life, so I was going to mention everything going on, but then I realized he probably wasn’t the best person to reveal that secret to. But at that point I had to say something. He assumed we were actually dating, so I just went with it</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>From: Zoey Clarke Not-Kent, 12:24pm</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>don't feel bad</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>i get not knowing when to shut up</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>i mean that’s basically how i got us into this mess in the first place</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>and it shouldn't really matter, what’s a couple extra people added to our list of people who think we’re dating</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>To: Zoey Clarke Not-Kent, 12:25pm</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Today on “Sentences You Never Thought You’d Be Saying”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>From: Zoey Clarke Not-Kent, 12:27pm</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>sounds like a riveting show, you should pitch that</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>sorry i’ve got to go</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>joan is giving me the death glare, my lunch break is almost up</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>To: Zoey Clarke Not-Kent, 12:27pm</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>It’s okay, I’ve got to get going too. Good luck with your watch coding!</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>From: Zoey Clarke Not-Kent, 12:28pm</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>bye dude</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>good luck with teaching piano to miserable middle schoolers ;)</em> </span>
</p>
<hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Friday evening rolls around, and Max makes his way to Zoey’s apartment to pick her up. Zoey had insisted he didn’t need to (<em>“You’re already coming from Oakland, you don’t have to drive out of your way to get me”</em>), but he wanted to. If they were going to fake date, he wanted to do it right. Besides, though she won’t admit it, he knows Zoey secretly loves driving in his “fancy-ass Audi,” as she puts it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As he drives, he fiddles with the radio tuner, trying to find a station that’s not on its commercial break. Seriously, does every radio station play their ads at the same time? Eventually, he settles on a station playing the beginning of a familiar song. As the catchy guitar riff filters through the car speakers, he taps along on his steering wheel.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <em>“Take me to your best friend's house</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Goin’ ‘round this roundabout</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Oh yeah</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Take me to your best friend's house</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <em>I loved you then and I love you now</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Oh yeah</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Don't take me tongue tied</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Don't wave no goodbye”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Max is taken aback by how much the lyrics describe the situation he’s in. (The rest of the song, maybe not so much, but he just ignores the references to drug use.) He knows exactly how he feels about Zoey, he knows he <em>does</em> love her, but he just can’t find a way to tell her.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">As he pulls up in front of her apartment, he leans his head against his seat and closes his eyes. He just needs a second to himself before facing the reality of the evening. After a moment, he goes to grab his phone so he can let Zoey know he’s there, when someone loudly raps against the car window.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Jesus Christ!” he exclaims as he jumps. The passenger door opens to reveal Zoey standing on the curb. The top half of her hair is pulled back, but the rest of it hangs down, gently brushing across her shoulders. Though she doesn’t know it, she’s wearing a favorite sweater of his—a blue one that somehow manages to perfectly match the color of her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">She, as always, looks beautiful.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“You okay there?” she asks, sliding into the seat. “Before I opened the door, you looked quite mopey, and now you’ve been staring at me for at <em>least</em> ten seconds.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Uh, yeah, sorry. Just thinking,” he says nondescriptly.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Is this Grouplove?” Zoey asks, gesturing to the radio, which is still playing <em>Tongue Tied</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Max, who was about to start pulling away from the curb, looks at her with a raised eyebrow.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“What?” she asks, feigning offense. “I do know <em>some</em> music, you know.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Zoey,” he says, now starting to actually drive. “I don’t mean to be rude, but the other day <em>Elenore</em> by The Turtles came on and you asked me if it was ‘<em>that one Beatles song</em>.’”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“To be fair, I think I get points for at least knowing there was a Beatles song with Eleanor in the title.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Max glances at her briefly before turning his eyes back to the road. “<em>Eleanor Rigby</em> is arguably one of the most famous songs ever, and you didn’t even know what it sounded like.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Zoey huffs out a breath. “Well, I know it <em>now</em>, seeing as you forced me to listen to it. I know music, okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“If that helps you sleep at night,” Max says, laughing lightly. “But, seriously, out of all of the songs to know, why this one?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“You know that guy, Luke, who I dated for like, two weeks in junior year?” Zoey asks.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Every time we made out, he insisted on playing this song. <em>Only</em> this song. I think the lyrics are permanently seared into my brain.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Ew,” Max says. He would rather not think about Zoey making out with some other guy while listening to this song. “You can change the station, if you want.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you,” Zoey says, reaching out to select one of Max’s radio presets. “Anyway, enough about my failed college relationships.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1"><em>Agreed</em>, Max thinks.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">Zoey continues, “We need to come up with a plan for tonight.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That would probably be helpful. What were you thinking?” he asks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, I think we should tell them that we broke up after dinner, but before games.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max nods. “So that way we don’t have to sit through a whole dinner with the news weighing in their minds, but it’s also not a tell-them-then-leave thing?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Exactly, that’s what I was thinking, too,” Zoey says. “I’m glad we’re on the same page about this.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max isn’t looking at her, but he can tell that she’s smiling. Is it weird that he knows she’s smiling by the sound of her voice?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, you know what they say,” he says, “Great minds and all that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They spend the rest of the car ride in relative silence (besides the radio, which is now playing mid-2000s pop), but it isn’t an awkward one. Somehow, just sitting with Zoey has never been uncomfortable. Neither of them feel the need to talk; being in the presence of one another is enough.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>***</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max pulls up in front of the Clarkes’ home. As always, the bushes lining the lawn are immaculately clipped. He wouldn’t expect anything else from a home owned by Maggie Clarke, who runs her own landscaping business. If the yard was anything but tidy, he would be worried.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max gets out of the car and walks around to the passenger’s side, in order to open the door for Zoey.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why, thank you, Maxwell,” Zoey says, grabbing his extended hand as she gets out of the car. “<em>Very</em> gentlemanly of you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You shouldn’t expect anything else from your <em>boyfriend</em>, should you?” Max says with a wink.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They walk up the drive together and approach the front door. Before either of them can knock, the door swings open to reveal David. He’s still in his suit from work, but he’s ditched his suit jacket in favor of rolling up his shirt sleeves.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max gives him a sideways look. “Were you waiting for us this whole time?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I heard the car doors closing. Believe it or not, I have better things to do besides awaiting you at the door,” he says, not unkindly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good to know you weren’t creepily waiting for us, bro,” Zoey says. She leans in to give him a hug.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Emily and Mom are in the dining room, if you want to go say hi," He tells his sister. "I actually wanted to talk with Max for a second.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max looks at Zoey, who gives him a shrug and a raised eyebrow. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Uh, sure,” Max agrees. David tilts his head towards the study adjacent to the foyer, and Max follows him into the room as Zoey continues on into the dining room. Max’s eyes glance to Mitch’s chair, which is still sitting there, untouched.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No need to look so scared, man,” David says. Max lets out an unassured chuckle. “I’m not going to give you that stupid ‘<em>if you hurt her</em>’ speech, because we all know Zoey can handle herself just fine.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max nods. “I hate to admit it, but I think I’d rather be beat up by you than her. I think it’s something about the shortness, it condenses all her rage.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think you’re on to something,” David says, laughing. But the moment passes, and the mood sobers. He places a hand on his father's chair before continuing, “Anyway, I just wanted to say—I’m happy you two are together. It’s been tough for all of us, since Dad died, but I especially worry about Zoey. She doesn’t— she’s never been good with dealing with things like that, with sharing her feelings with us. But I think you bring out the best in her, Max. She trusts you. I just wanted to let you know, I’m really glad you two are together. I think it will be good for her.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max is taken aback. He wasn’t expecting the stereotypical Big Brother Speech from David, but he also wasn’t expecting this. “Oh, well, thank you. I’m happy to be there for her. But—” Max cuts himself off. He would hate to ruin the moment by telling David that he and Zoey broke up. (Or worse, by telling him that they were never actually dating in the first place.) He decides to stick with the predefined plan and wait until after dinner.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“But what?” David asks, cocking his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, nothing.” Max shakes his head. “Tell you later.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With that, the two men make their way into the dining room.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>***</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dinner passes uneventfully. It's mainly filled with small talk and catching up; it had been a while since Max had been around, and Maggie is eager to hear about how his teaching has been going. Max tries to engage in the conversation as much as he can, but it’s hard for him to remain fully present. His mind keeps nervously drifting to the fact that he and Zoey are going to have to tell everyone that they broke up. He’s not exactly sure why he’s so nervous. It’s not like they were actually dating in the first place, so it wasn’t even a real breakup. But in the wake of David’s heart-to-heart before dinner, he can’t help but feel like they’re going to disappoint everyone by announcing their split.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Once everyone is done eating, Zoey glances at Max before looking around at her family. “We have something to tell you guys,” she says.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">David clears his throat. “Actually, Emily and I have an announcement, too. An <em>important</em> one.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">David is now staring pointedly at Zoey, and she stares back just as fiercely. Max has no idea what they communicate to each other, but about ten seconds into their mutual stare down, Zoey apparently decides that David can tell his news first. “Fine, you go,” she tells her brother.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">David looks at his wife. Emily takes a deep breath, and with a smile on her face, exclaims, “I’m pregnant!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh my god! That’s wonderful!” Maggie shouts, getting up from her seat to hug Emily, then David.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Congrats, you guys,” Max says, rather unenthusiastically. He feels bad, because he’s genuinely happy for the couple, and he doesn’t want to seem uninterested in his news. But he can’t help but worry about bringing down the mood by announcing a breakup to the family.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zoey gets up to hug the couple after her mother is done. As she hugs her sister-in-law, she looks over to Max, eyes wide. She subtly shakes her head, and Max knows she feels the same way as him. Who wants to be the people that ruin a pregnancy announcement with news of a breakup? He nods his head back, knowing Zoey will understand that he agrees with her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So, what did you want to say Zoey?” David asks, after some of the excitement has died down.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max glances at Zoey. He can tell by the way she presses her lips together that she’s reluctant to talk. Since neither of them want to say they broke up, they have to think of something else to tell her family. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well,” Max says, taking over. He flings his arm around Zoey’s shoulders, pulling her in close. “We just both wanted to say how happy we are that you guys are so supportive of our relationship. It’s still new, but you guys have really made us feel like this is the right path for us.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zoey looks at Max and smiles. Her face is flooded with relief. She reaches up to take his hand, which is still on her shoulder, before turning back to her family. “We’re really happy, and it means a lot that you can see that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, you two being happy makes <em>us</em> happy,” Maggie says, “Plus, now you have a date for Simon’s engagement party!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The conversation then turns back to Emily’s pregnancy, and Max becomes acutely aware of how Zoey’s hand feels interlocked with his. It’s significantly smaller than his own, but it somehow feels like it was made to fit in the palm of his hand. It feels natural, like he’s held her hand a thousand times before and he’ll grab it a thousand times again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He knows that in a couple weeks they’ll try to announce their breakup again. But for tonight, Max allows himself to enjoy the newfound closeness to Zoey. He knows it’s selfish to revel in the fact that their plan was foiled, but somehow, he can’t bring himself to care.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>***</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thanks again for saving my ass back there,” Zoey says as they get into the car after an intense night of charades—in more ways than one. “David would have killed me if I had ruined his baby announcement.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It wasn’t a problem, Zo,” Max says. “I also want to stay in your family’s good graces, so it wasn’t a hard call to make.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They both don’t say anything for a moment. Max has started the car, but hasn’t actually started driving yet. The engine gently hums in the background as they sit there. Eventually, Zoey is the one who breaks their silence.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And, um, about Simon’s engagement party…” Zoey starts. “It’s still a while away, it’s not until November, but…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You want me to come?” Max asks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Would that be too much to ask?” Zoey questions. Max knows she’s trying to play it cool, but he can see the reflection of her leg bouncing nervously in the passenger side window. “It’s just— I wasn’t planning on, you know, <em>this</em> going on that long.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s fine, Zoey, really,” Max assures her. “I mean, that’s what prompted this in the first place, right?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zoey grimaces. “Don’t remind me of my inability to shut up when I should.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m accompanying you to your ex-boyfriend’s engagement party, that <em>you</em> are obligated to go to, out of the goodness of my heart.” Max smiles at her. “I think I’m entitled to some nice, friendly teasing every now and then.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not so sure about that,” Zoey says, rolling her eyes. “But, seriously Max, thank you. You’re like, the best friend-slash-fake-boyfriend in the world. The universe, probably.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sounds pretty official. I think I need that on a mug, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mmm, we’ll have to see about that,” Zoey says with a serious expression on her face. It doesn’t last long, though, as they both burst out into laughter over the sheer ridiculousness of the situation.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay,” Zoey says eventually, once they’ve both calmed down. “Let’s put your fancy-ass car to good use and get out of here. I wouldn’t want my family to think that we’re making out or something.” She gives a small shudder.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>She’s cute when she does that</em>, Max thinks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He drives towards her apartment building, a smile on his face the whole time.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Poor Max and Zoey, they just can't catch a break, can they? Whoever would do such a thing to them?</p><p>Anyway, thanks so much for reading and for the kudos and comments! I love hearing everyone's thoughts :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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